sit on your countenance.—­“And what,” cry you, “does the conceited author suppose we can glean from these pages, if Charlotte is held up as an object of terror, to prevent us from falling into guilty errors? does not La Rue triumph in her shame, and by adding art to guilt, obtain the affection of a worthy man, and rise to a station where she is beheld with respect, and cheerfully received into all companies.  What then is the moral you would inculcate?  Would you wish us to think that a deviation from virtue, if covered by art and hypocrisy, is not an object of detestation, but on the contrary shall raise us to fame and honour? while the hapless girl who falls a victim to her too great sensibility, shall be loaded with ignominy and shame?” No, my fair querist, I mean no such thing.  Remember the endeavours of the wicked are often suffered to prosper, that in the end their fall may be attended with more bitterness of heart; while the cup of affliction is poured out for wise and salutary ends, and they who are compelled to drain it even to the bitter dregs, often find comfort at the bottom; the tear of penitence blots their offences from the book of fate, and they rise from the heavy, painful trial, purified and fit for a mansion in the kingdom of eternity.

Yes, my young friends, the tear of compassion shall fall for the fate of Charlotte, while the name of La Rue shall be detested and despised.  For Charlotte, the soul melts with sympathy; for La Rue, it feels nothing but horror and contempt.  But perhaps your gay hearts would rather follow the fortunate Mrs. Crayton through the scenes of pleasure and dissipation in which she was engaged, than listen to the complaints and miseries of Charlotte.  I will for once oblige you; I will for once follow her to midnight revels, balls, and scenes of gaiety, for in such was she constantly engaged.

I have said her person was lovely; let us add that she was surrounded by splendor and affluence, and he must know but little of the world who can wonder, (however faulty such a woman’s conduct,) at her being followed by the men, and her company courted by the women:  in short Mrs. Crayton was the universal favourite:  she set the fashions, she was toasted by all the gentlemen, and copied by all the ladies.

Colonel Crayton was a domestic man.  Could he be happy with such a woman? impossible!  Remonstrance was vain:  he might as well have preached to the winds, as endeavour to persuade her from any action, however ridiculous, on which she had set her mind:  in short, after a little ineffectual struggle, he gave up the attempt, and left her to follow the bent of her own inclinations:  what those were, I think the reader must have seen enough of her character to form a just idea.  Among the number who paid their devotions at her shrine, she singled one, a young Ensign of mean birth, indifferent education, and weak intellects.  How such a man came into the army, we hardly know to account for, and how he afterwards